


Light Years

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marshmallow Adaar, The Hissing Wastes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10180040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: He smiles at Dorian across the flames and there’s nothing monstrous about him at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaesarianConquerer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarianConquerer/gifts).



> Another commission for the incredibly patient [justalittlemeenah](http://justalittlemeenah.tumblr.com)  
> over on Tumblr who wanted some Adaarian fluff in The Hissing Wastes.

“And here I thought they would never go to sleep.” Dorian sits down by the fire and brushes some sand from his leg. Not that it’s much use in the Hissing Wastes. He’ll be covered in a thin scratchy layer of sand soon enough. 

 

Adaar steps closer into the light, his arms full of dry wood. The firelight casts deep shadows on his face from below. He looks a bit like a drawing from a cover of those sensationalist novels Dorian sometimes read as a child. The monstrous Qunari with sharp teeth and horns and claws. He doesn’t remember any of those caricatures having such a lovely smile, however. 

 

“It’s difficult to stop once Sera has started telling a story,” Adaar says and carefully sets down the wood, making sure it’s clattering doesn’t wake their companions. 

 

“That is one way to put it.” Dorian stretches with a little sigh. His muscles are sore from walking and fighting. The fact that he’s spent the last few weeks sleeping on a bedroll instead of their big comfy bed in Skyhold doesn’t really help. 

 

He watches Adaar feed some of the logs to the crackling fire between them. There’s a specific method to it that keeps the whole stack from falling apart. He’s seen Bull do it in a similar way but his own attempts usually end in a cloud of smoke and sparks. The fire behaves for Adaar. 

 

He smiles at Dorian across the flames and there’s nothing monstrous about him at all. It still surprises him sometimes - how a simple smile is enough to make him feel so warm and happy. 

 

There’s a loud snore coming from the small mountain that is the Iron Bull and Dorian almost jumps at the sudden sound. 

 

Adaar laughs and sits back on his heels. 

 

“I suppose it would worry me more if he didn’t snore,” Dorian says and pulls his robes a little tighter around himself against the cold. Another thing he should have gotten used to by now. The Hissing Wastes were blistering hot during the day but at nighttime it was almost as freezing as Ferelden on its best days. 

 

Adaar is by his side before he has even opened his mouth to make the comparison. He pulls a blanket from his pack and drapes it over Dorian’s shoulders. 

 

“Thank you.” Dorian manages to get a hold of his hand before he can pull away and gives it a little squeeze. 

 

Adaar sits down next to him, folding his long legs underneath him. He keeps his hand in Dorian’s and laces his fingers with his once he’s settled in. 

 

“I should be the one fussing over you,” Dorian says, his eyes flicking to the white bandage wrapped around Adaar’s head. 

 

Adaar lifts a hand as if to touch it but stops himself in time. “There’s no need. This should hold for the night.” 

 

“You’re only saying that because I was the one to give you first aid. I’m no healer.” 

 

“Battle wounds are supposed to scar, remember?”

 

Dorian sighs and leans against Adaar’s side. “I wish you wouldn’t take advice from someone with several missing fingers and an eye patch. I worry enough as it is.” 

 

He feels Adaar’s laughter more than he hears it. “You shouldn’t. I’ve had worse.”

 

Dorian tenses a little bit. He’s painfully aware of the map of scars on Adaar’s body - most of them from a time before the Inquisition. 

 

“I assume there was no adequate healer in your little group of Qunari misfits?” Dorian asks, mostly so the silence won’t give him away. 

 

“That is why they kept me around. Or so I was told.” 

 

Dorian scoffs. It’s become somewhat of a natural reaction to people underestimating Adaar. Apparently this also applies to people and dismissive comments that happened long before his time.

 

“Surely they were not so blind as to not appreciate your many other qualities?” 

 

“At times.” He hears the smile in Adaar’s voice and it makes him feel a little better. It’s difficult to imagine sometimes how Adaar fit into a group of Vashoth mercenaries. Adaar certainly doesn’t talk about that part of his past a lot. Dorian knows he still receives letters from his old company sometimes - some looking for employment, some seemingly just to stay in touch. There’s no bad blood there, no drastic break between his present and his past. 

 

That part is the most difficult thing to understand. 

 

“Do you sometimes wish you could go back?” Dorian asks into the silence. “Or that you never left?” 

 

Adaar doesn’t miss a beat. “Then I wouldn’t have met you.” 

 

Dorian lifts a lazy hand to pat his shoulder. “Your romantic view is both expected and appreciated. But disregard this part of the equation for a moment.” 

 

Adaar hums, a low sound somewhere deep in his chest that Dorian always loves. “It would be difficult for me to make a decision without considering the most important factor.” 

 

Dorian laughs. He can’t help himself. “You are hopeless, amatus.” He turns his head to press a quick kiss against Adaar’s arm. “Never change, if you’d be so kind.” 

 

There’s a moment of silence, only interrupted by Adaar shifting a little bit so he can put an arm around Dorian and pull him a bit closer. The fire in front of them crackles quietly and somewhere in the distance Dorian can hear the call of a fennec. 

 

When Adaar finally speaks, Dorian isn’t really surprised. He does this sometimes. Takes his time before he answers a question. It’s a restraint Dorian has never mastered himself. 

 

“I don’t feel very strongly about the idea of returning to the Valo-Kas,” Adaar says. “Even if that was an option. They’re good people. Friends. But… I don’t feel the need.” 

 

Dorian makes a contemplative sound. “Coming from you, that sounds almost scathing.” 

 

“I don’t mean it that way.” 

 

Another moment of silence before Dorian has the courage to ask the next question. “What about your family then?” 

 

“My family?”

 

“Your parents.” Dorian keeps himself from shifting uncomfortably. “I am very aware of the fact that while mine have been a frequent topic of discussion, we hardly ever talk about yours. A failure on my end, it seems.” 

 

Adaar takes a deep breath. “Not at all. I think there just isn’t much to tell. Which is probably a good thing. In comparison.” He pauses and when Dorian looks up he can’t quite make out the expression of his face. “They did their best and I love them. But… sometimes it felt as if they came from a different world. I don’t think I ever fully understood what it was like for them. To be Tal-Vashoth.” 

 

Dorian hesitates but then lets his hand slip back into Adaar’s, runs his fingertips over the calluses on his palm and fingers. “And I assume they didn’t understand what it was like for you.” 

 

Adaar looks at him, a small smile curling the corners of his lips upward. “I assume the magic was a surprise.” 

 

He doesn’t need to say more. Dorian gets the picture. Discovering one’s child is a mage can be a shock even for people who didn’t grow up thinking of them as monsters. He doesn’t say it out loud but he’s suddenly overcome with a wave of gratitude that Adaar’s parents became Tal-Vashoth before he was born. The thought of Adaar under the Qun… He suppresses a shudder and presses himself a little bit more closely to Adaar’s side. 

 

“So you won’t go back there? When all of this is over?” 

 

He can feel Adaar stiffen, just for a moment. “I… hadn’t thought about it.” 

 

“Ah.” Dorian clicks his tongue but doesn’t bother with sitting up properly. “Should I thank the Maker for the fact that you’re such a terrible liar?” 

 

Adaar’s laughter is so soft he can barely hear it over the desert wind. “There was never a right moment to bring it up.” 

 

“A wrong moment for fanciful dreams about the future? I would have to disagree, amatus.” 

 

“Nothing fanciful.” Adaar pauses for a moment. “Just… If I’m honest, I don’t want to go anywhere. I have never... felt at home like I do here.” 

 

“Here?” Dorian hears himself asks even though how he can hear himself over the sound of his heartbeat is beyond him. “The desert?” 

 

“Perhaps I've worded that in a confusing way… It’s not about the place, it’s -”

 

“No,” Dorian says quickly and squeezes his hand. “I understand. I understand completely.” 

 

Adaar looks at him, his eyes impossibly big and dark in the low light and Dorian thinks he could stay in this moment forever. Never take another breath in fear of shattering it. 

 

He’s read about something like this before. Like he has about to many things. About home not being where you’re born or where you live. Or not even a place at all. But deep down, he didn’t think it was possible.

 

That home could just be this. A man holding him close by the fireside with his hand in his and the stars like an ocean above them.

**Author's Note:**

> About fic requests inquire [here.](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/ask)  
> You can also find me on Tumblr, if you want: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
